


Paranormal Encounters

by 33sRallyGirl (BlackRose)



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-18
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:50:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackRose/pseuds/33sRallyGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come explore Dillon's supernatural side. Each chapter is a one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hero

It was all so simple, in theory--just an ordinary Riggins brothers hunting outing into the plains outside Dillon. It had been a fairly successful trip, too---between the two of them the boys had brought down a fairly large wild hog boar, its tusks still gleaming wickedly in the firelight as Tim cracked open his first (fifth? Seventh?) beer of the night. Billy was perched in the bed of Tim's truck, on the phone with Mindy--describing their outing, very enthusiasticly by the sound of it. Tim was sitting in a folding chair, his feet up on the cooler, staring absently into the fire--which he suddenly noticied seemed to be staring back.

With a curse he tossed the bottle aside and lept to his feet, grabbing for his rifle (on the ground beside him) with a frantic shout to his brother. The thing snarled and lunged, leaping the flames to launch itself at Tim. Billy had an image of a lithe hairless soot-colored body, long narrow muzzle and wicked fangs, his brother screaming as he tried to ward the thing off with an arm--into which it had bitten deeply. He couldn't get a bead on it to shoot it--so instead he reached for his knife, call to Mindy forgotten as the phone had fallen into the truck bed. He ran up to Tim and grabbed one of the creature's long ears, earning a hiss and making its clawed feet paddle franticly and its fangs chew deeper into Tim's arm. A vicious stab to the spine encouraged it to let go, though it had to spasm itself to death before the wicked jaws came loose and it fell into the dust.

Tim's arm was a bloody mess--neither could look at the wound directly. Tim's face was white and he'd started shaking almost the instant the creature detached--medical help was needed, NOW. For the moment the best Billy could do was to strip off his own shirt and wrap it around his brother's arm like a bandage. Immediately it was soaked dark with wine-colored gore. He sat Tim back by the fire and went to grab the cell again.

"Babe, can you...look, call the sheriff, get us an ambulance out here, will ya? Alamo Lake, about a mile off 619--yeah, if they ask, animal attack. Not me, Tim. Badly, yeah. What...no, it doesn't...I guess it's a dog, but damn if I know what kind! Yeah, it's dead. Chewed him up--it wouldn't let go. He's shaking pretty bad--hasn't said a word to me since. No, he's awake--I think. Hang on."

A quick glance back at Tim showed he was at least sitting up still, though whether such was the harbinger of consciousness he had no idea.

"Timmy? You okay?"

Tim shivered. A fine sheen of sweat slicked his face.

"Y-yeah. Christ, bro....the hell...?"

"Dunno, Timmy, but help's on the way. Mindy? Yeah, he's awake. Kinda zoned out, but he answered when I--is it dead? Yeah, that's how we got it off him. Great. Have them look for the fire. Yeah. Yeah, we're in Tim's truck--black F-150. Right. Warm, they said? Okay. Anything else? Animal control? Oh, for rabies, yeah. Yeah, it's intact. Sure, have 'em...hold on a second.."

Tim had reached dizzily for his beer, nearly pitching headlong into the fire. Billy again dropped the phone and scrambled to his brother's side, easing him to the ground and helping him bend his knees slightly, as though he were going to do situps.

"Still with me, Timmy? Mindy's got EMS on the way; just stick with me..."

Tim's face was gray, a rapid pulse hammering in his neck. His eyes drifted shut.

"'M sleepy, Billy. Dropped..m'beer..."

Billy tapped his brother's face sharply, getting his attention--[i]have to keep him awake; can't let him sleep...[/i]

"I'll bring you one when we get to the hospital, okay? Hear the sirens? They're almost here--"

Tim shook his head. His words slurred together drunkenly.

"Y'can't...'fford it. I don' have strippers..pay for it..."

Billy choked back a laugh at the rememberance of how the girls Mindy had used to work with, put on a special show to pay for her medical expenses while she was pregnant. The sentiment tore at Billy's heart--he was the older brother; he was supposed to keep his little brother safe from this kind of thing!

 

"We'll find a way, bud, just stick with me, okay? Stephan, he's gonna need his uncle around to teach him to run a play--an' how to pull all the girls."

A ghost of that famous Riggins-smile twitched the corner of Tim's mouth.

"S'gonna be a real heartbreaker..."

The sirens got louder, soon headlights and the swooping red-and-blue domelights on the emergency vehicles could be seen. Billy jumped to his feet, flagging them down. From the ground Tim groaned and tried to shield his eyes with the heavily-bleeding arm.

"Don' like them lights, bro...m'sick,"  
he managed to mutter, turning his head to the side and retching. An EMT held his head, three others racing over to crowd around with their bags of equipment. They formed a wall; Billy's heart iced over as he couldn't see what they were doing. A State Trooper draped a heavy blanket around his shoulders as they loaded Tim into the ambulance. The sherrif was overseeing the collection of the animal's body by the Animal Control people. As he went to climb in the ambulance with his brother Billy overheard them.

"The hell IS it?"

"Look, same fangs as the others!"

"So this one is responsible for--?"

"Looks like it. Hafta test to be sure, but--"

"Thank God, finally this whole thing can settle down a little. Hope that kid's all right."

 

What in God's name were they talking about?

 

At the hospital, Tim was rushed away into the E.R staight off, Billy left behind to do paperwork in the lobby. Forms filled out, he paced and wished desperately for a beer or two to calm his nerves. This couldn't possibly be happening. His little brother was NOT going to be taken away from him. Billy had never been a religious man--none of the Rigginses were, if you got right down to it--but it seemed as good a time as any to ask the Big Guy to help Tim out, give him a little nudge away from that scary light.

He'd just raised his head from that earnest--if awkward--prayer, when he spotted a newspaper sitting apparently abandoned on the plastic chair beside his. Like one in a dream he picked it up, gazing without comprehension at the headline.

[b]More Livestock Killings Terrorize Area![/b]

Intrigued, he read on. Apparently animals in five towns surrounding Dillon--New Braunfels, Liddel Park, Larabee, Three Rivers and Herculaneum--were being killed by some unknown creature which liked to bite them on the neck and drain their blood. The victims ranged from housepets--cats, dogs, rabbits, goats--to larger animals like ponies, hogs, and even young steers. Supposedly it was the work of a mythical being come up from Mexico, a thing called a 'chupacabra'--a goat-sucker, in Spanish. Descriptions of the creature were always vague, but ranged from a hairless and short, but humanlike, to a thick-furred dog thing with a long snout and big fangs. The hair on the back of his neck rose involuntarily, thinking back on the hairless sheen of the thing that had attacked Tim. It couldn't be, though. No way.

They kept Tim two weeks, having stitched the wound, given him a pint transfusion, and treated him for shock. He was also getting rabies injections at regular intervals, and had had a tetanus shot. (His first ever, so far as Billy knew.) The doctors said he was extremely lucky, in that barring infection there seemed unlikely to be any nerve damage to his arm. Yes, Tim would still be able to play football. Furthermore, the rally girls had flocked to his room as soon as they'd heard. Clearly the younger Riggins was enjoying their attentions--he seemed to love recounting the story of his life-and-death struggle against the 'devil-beast' as he'd taken to calling it, conveniantly forgetting with each repetition that it had been Billy who killed the thing. Ah well, let him have his glory. It seemed to be helping with the withdrawls he was having. Billy had yet to figuire a way to successfully sneak him in a beer under the watchful eyes of the nurses. Maybe it was because Billy was just such a terrible liar. The massive doses of antibiotics and painkillers couldn't be helping matters much, either. Thank God Riggins' Rigs was finally doing well enough that he was able to get his brother insured, or they'd be deep in debt by now.

The day they brought him home--with a huge packet of antibiotics, and careful instructions on watching for signs of infection and when to come back to get the stitches out--Billy had the paper on the seat next to him. tim slid in, picking it up to move it out of the way in so doing.

"S'this?"

[b]Dent County Cattle-Killer Slain![/b]

The photo they ran was of the creature that had attacked Tim, its eyes sunken in death and black lips drawn back in a snarl of warning. Seen like that, it almost looked like a skinny, long-eared coyote--with a fox-muzzle, sharply pointed--and no hair on its body. The article spoke of a 'local man' who had killed the beast after it attacked a family member. Scientists weren't sure yet if it was some manner of crossbreed, or an entirely new as-yet-undiscovered species. Of course, popular opinion still held that it was the infamous Chupacabra. Looking up from the paper, Tim grinned.

"How 'bout that. Yer a hero, Billy. How about I buy the hero a burger?"

Billy put the truck in gear as his brother buckled up.

"Best idea you've had yet, bro."


	2. Visitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gone, but never forgotten.

When Stephan Hannibal Riggins is born, the first hands that hold him  
are not his father's. They are not a doctor's, his mother's, or even a  
nurse's. He will never know whose they were, even as he stares up into  
solemn green eyes, and rough voice whispers to him, 'Breathe, little  
man. Breathe and live and be your daddy's joy.' The hands drop him  
then, and with the jolt of being caught something is forced out of his  
airways. He proceeds to squall his displeasure at this rough  
treatment and flail new-wrinkled fists. Across town, an ambulance is  
speeding away from the scene of a four-car pileup, bound for the very  
hospital in which this precious new life is beginning. In the back of  
it a longhaired young man breathes his last, green eyes closing  
slowly.

 

The strange manifestations are quick to begin after that. All over  
town, odd things start to happen, unexplainable things. Herman Field's  
opponent locker room is, on several occasions, apparently broken into  
during a game. The vandal(s?) removes locks from lockers and scatters  
gear across the floor. The first time it happens, the opposing  
team--understandably--cries foul. Serious accusations are levied,  
suspensions risked, but it is eventually proven that none of the  
Panthers were involved. Locks are installed on the doors, which seem  
to be an ample deterrant--until it happens again. The locks are shown  
to be inviolate; hairs begin to stand up on the backs of players'  
necks. All the more so when players begin to be attacked as they  
change. Unseen hands slap and shove them, slam doors in their faces.  
The players accuse one another; fights break out. Rumors fly--the  
other team is doing it for attention. Herman Field was built on top of  
an Indian burial ground. It's just air currents. It's a sign the world  
is ending. In any event, for the Panthers, new and old, it's great fun  
to watch.

Smitty's aquires a phantom visitor as well. Security cameras show bar stools spinning in the empty place, shadows strolling back and forth--and then fuzz out into a few seconds of snow before clearing--in the time, someone places three dollars on the bar. The doors and windows, of course, are locked.

Billy Riggins doesn't think about all the little things, either--the icy wind that intermittantly sweeps through the house, roaring like drunken laughter and slamming doors as it goes. Mindy cowers in fear, but resolutely goes to check on Stephan, who often as not is sleeping like a lamb. Billy smiles blearily and mumbles about pressure changes and needing new insulation. The voice in the empty room, insistantly calling his name out of the silence. There's never anyone there, of course, but he can never quite stop himself from going in there, annoyed, expecting his lazy brother to be sprawled on the couch again and wanting Billy to bring him another beer. Skeeter sometimes will prick up his ears, tilting his head like he hears something far away, then he'll start licking at his doggie lips nervously and wag and go lean against Mindy, shivering like a frightened child. He never does bark, but whatever he sees, he makes plain it scares him. Stephan, though...it's Stephan who finally connects with the thing.

It's a long time before their little boy is verbal enough to hold conversations with his imaginary friend. They overhear him playing, in the yard with his trucks or throwing a ball for Skeeter or coloring. He calls his playmate 'Timmy'. He's very old, Stephan explains when pressed, and he has girl-hair and green eyes. Billy digs out an old family album, shoddily maintained. There are pictures in there, wedding photos near the back, right before the ones showing Stephan's birth and his school days. Billy points to a photo, to the man in the white suit and matching hat. His son giggles.

"Timmy looks funny with that hat on!"

The boy has never seen this picture before. He's never met--or even heard about--his uncle.   
So now they know.

The clergy refuses to believe them. It's not a godly occurance. Their view of heaven and system of belief doesn't allow for the idea that some souls are just...left behind. Lost in the shuffle, as it were. Good souls go to Heaven, bad souls go to Hell, and that is all the church will say on that matter. But they keep asking around. The Taylors offer to help however they can--quite often they have Stephan over to play with Gracie, and sometimes Tammy will bring a casserole or something. They never stay long enough to hear or see anything out of the ordinary, and the visits leave the lingering bitterness of being pitied. Billy's coworkers insist he's been 'under a lot of stress lately', what with becoming a new father and his brother passing away right together like that. Sure. He's overtired, that's it. Maybe if Billy can sleep long enough, a glowing apparition of Tim will stop stumbling around in the dark trying to find...God only knows what.

Billy was never much of a praying man. but even if he were, what could one pray for now? 'Please, God, take away the ghost of the only family I ever had'? Finally it's Coach Taylor who has an idea. They can't get an exorcism done, but perhaps some kind of simple blessing would work? Just something to let the departed know that his presence wasn't appreciated there, and was scaring them. It was as good an idea as any they could come up with.

Landry Clark offers to do it. He wouldn't be sleeping anyway; why not? He goes through the house, offering little prayers in each room and painting a cross above each door and window with a finger wetted in holy water. (Side note--if one steals holy water is it still holy? Landry never answers why such a question might be pertinant.) Then he asks for a sign--some kind of evidence of the being's leaving. For answer, the walls rattle. Inside the fridge a sixpack of longnecks explodes with a sound like gunshot. Beer bleeds all over the inside of the fridge, and all Billy can do is laugh, because that's so much his brother that it scares him to death.

Oh, Tim Riggins never left Dillon that night or any other, you can be sure. Herman Field still gets broken into--the sound booth never did lock right; sometimes you can see the lights on in it in the middle of the night, and crackling laughter will be heard over the speakers. A mysterious black truck has dogged police in recent months, appearing out of nowhere going much too fast, eluding chase until cornered by a dead end, only to vanish. The children will sometimes smile at a green-eyed stranger who escorts them to their homes from the bus stop around the time children in other nearby cities are being abducted and murdered.

We may never see him, but we know he's still there. And we have no regrets--just as he'd want.


End file.
